The Improbable Prayer

I ask not for an actual miracle
But to be a statistical outlier.
There is a covering of moss on my heart.
On the shore of the lake, the mind turns to home,
To the impossibility of a home
For long, to the remote possibility
Of a few peaceful, comfortable decades,
Relief of debt, surcease of toil, decent health,
A small but well-made, adequate house quite near,
In view of the waves, a house, stone's throw from home.